


Red Haze, Glory Days

by DreadWolfMoon



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Drug Use, F/F, F/M, M/M, Mild Language, Other, Probably Inquisition characters added in later, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 09:38:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3405860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreadWolfMoon/pseuds/DreadWolfMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>- The days going by in a bright red briliiant haze, These are the days oh these are our glory days - </p><p>Anders is a medical student at Kirkwall University, focused on just living his life, ignoring his housemate and her tenuous relationship with her Antivan boyfriend,  and getting through his studies. Enter Hawke, with her firebrand-attitude and an array of rebellious misfits at her side, and Anders life is tipped upside down in the ensuing chaos. And when a new drug enters the campus, everything is going to get a lot more interesting.</p><p>Includes mild drug use in later chapters, and will probably get progressively darker after the Deep Roads Expedition retelling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Haze, Glory Days

**Author's Note:**

> The University is a hybrid of the American system with major and minor degrees, and the English system in terms of what things are called. And if the lecturers seem too mean to be realistic, I'm just basing it off my own Uni experience :/

_Clinging to the past but loving the future,_

_Can we ever be more than we set out for_

_The days going by in a bright red briliiant haze,_

_These are the days oh these are our glory days_

\- Glory Days, Maryden the Bard

 

Anders liked coming in this early. It was quiet, peaceful, away from the loud chaos (mostly happy, but given the dramatic romance his roommate and her current boyfriend had, it was sometimes less than joyful) and noise of his apartment. This was he could actually get some hours in at the clinic before lectures started. Music thrummed in his ears as he crossed the campus, old red-brick buildings lining his path with shards of golden sunlight beaming through the gaps and criss-crossing over the weed-littered cobbles in front of him. He could understand _why_ they never properly got rid of the plants (without the roots to hold the soil and bricks together, the path would be unusable), they could at least invest in a non-toxic way of controlling them, he noted grimly.

 A particularly large patch of the bright blue pellets caught his eye and he stopped, swinging his tatty, patched backpack off his shoulder and taking out his water bottle to wash away the chemicals. Idiots, didn’t they know it killed cats?

Sighing, Anders shoved the bottle back into his bag and continued walking. The song in his ears ended and he pulled out his earbuds, letting them dangle around his neck and bump against his chest. Somewhere in the distance he could hear a violin being played, a lovely sound despite how often it was stopped, paused and then started again from the beginning of the piece. It was probably coming from Hightown, he thought idly as he crossed into the residential blocks. It was the Hall that was closest to campus, and the people there were the type who could afford violin lessons. What were those types of people called again? Oh right. People with money, who didn’t slum it like the rest of the students there.

Despite his disdain for the place, Anders liked walking through it on his way to the Darktown blocks and the clinic. The small fountains were very pretty, if a little ostentatious. What kind of prospective student looks at a Hall of Residence and says “Gee, this place is nice, but it needs more water features before I can live here”? Rich morons.

The clinic lay at the edge of Darktown, across the road from the Amell Hightown block. It did make him smile that the most expensive place to live came with a lovely view of the cheapest, most run-down block ever known to man. So awful that it needed the University to build a wide, pedestrianized road between it and the other block, apparently. Which was probably built using money that could have gone towards making Darktown better instead of sating rich, whiney idiots. The clinic itself was a 24 hour free service run by volunteers, mostly medical students like Anders who wanted to get some experience in while studying, and it had endured despite numerous attempts by the University to shut it down. After their own provided health service pointed out that the clinic took the strain off their doctors, the Kirkwall University Board had backed down, and so Anders’ beloved clinic had stayed open for business. Metaphorically, they’d never actually charge the students who went there. That would be unjust.

“You’re here early,” Wynne commented to him distractedly as Anders opened the flimsy glass-fronted door to the clinic, making a bell jingle and the noise bounce off the stark white walls and cheap plastic chairs they used to make a waiting area.

“Yeah, felt like getting in a few hours before class,” he replied, hanging his coat on the rack beside the door.

The senior student narrowed her eyes at him from where she sat behind the front desk, her pen poised over her notebook and what looked like biological diagrams. “You know this place doesn’t count as extra credit, right?” she teased.

“If it did, you wouldn’t still be here,” he shot back, stretching and walking over to her.

“It’s called a Neuroscience PhD, one of the hardest courses out there and therefore takes a long time to learn, you arse,” she retorted, flipping her notebook closed before he could peer over her shoulder. “In a few years, you’ll be in the same position, complete with a nosy Third Year who calls you old.”

“As long as they don’t call me stupid, I don’t really mind,” Anders replied with a shrug. “How was the graveyard shift?” He reached over the grab the patient roster from beside his silvery-haired colleague as she stretched, easing out the tension built up from working from 1-7am.

“It was alright,” came the strained response, a loud sigh permeating the words. “Firebrand came back in though.”

“Again!?” Firebrand was the nickname they gave to a patient renowned for getting into scraps and brawls, presumably against people they couldn’t really take on judging by the amount of times they came in with broken knuckles and bloody noses. Anders had yet to meet them. “Usual stuff or something new?”

“Look for yourself,” Wynne snorted. She pushed the roster towards him as she stood up and reached under the table for her bag.

Anders read through the patient record as Wynne began to pack up, eager to go home and sleep, he imagined. _Broken nose – Set, grazed knuckles – Sterilised and bandaged, bruising to eyes  and torso – No action available but caution advised._ Caution advised was Wynne’s way of saying she scolded the patient within an inch of their lives. And from the looks of things, Firebrand had had quite a night. Normally their injuries were limited to bruised knuckles and sometimes a black eye, but bruising to the face and torso? And a broken nose as well? At least he’d be able to tell who Firebrand actually was now, it wasn’t as if those things could be hidden easily.

“Kind of glad I wasn’t here to deal with that,” Anders muttered. “Firebrand is going to have the rumour mill going double time after last night.”

“You’ll never be able to tell who it is before you go searching and asking them why they never show up during your shifts,” Wynne said tiredly, buttoning up her coat and making her way towards the door.

Anders frowned. She knew him too well. “Alright, how the hell do you set a broken nose without leaving a mark? Is that some kind of weird magic they teach you in 4th year?” he grumbled, glaring at the senior student who grinned smugly back at him.

“It takes certain skill. And that’s why I’m the one studying a legit medical course, and you’re the one stuck in applied medicine.”

“Well, pardon me for wanting to help everyone I can and not be stuck in an operating room in a fancy hospital all day long,” Anders retorted hotly, his tone making up for the lack of anger he actually felt. It was an old argument.

Wynne winked at him and darted out of the door before he could say anything else, disappearing around the corner and leaving him alone in the silent office. Anders sat down at the desk and pulled out his assigned reading for his Classical Literature lecture later. He had a few hours to kill, and he needed to stop thinking about medical things so much. That was why he enjoyed doing the two subjects at the same time, Applied Medicine expanded his mind and Classical Literature kept him grounded. He needed the distraction, and from the looks of things, it was going to be a slow shift.

***

He was late. Shit, he was so late! Stupid book, stupid clinic, stupid Anders, stupid universe! He’d lost track of time, so engrossed in Chaucer (and by engrossed he meant he was too focused on trying to make sense of it) that he’d lost track of time, and now his lecture was already starting. He could see the entrance of the tatty old building looming in front of him as he raced down the path towards it, chest burning and air heaving out of his lungs. Why did they put the Literature Studies building all the way across campus back by Lowtown!?

He was almost at the door now, if he just reached out he could grab the handle and-

“Coming through!!”

The door slammed open as someone barrelled past him, overtaking him and crashing through the door as they raced into the building, almost knocking him into the gutter in their wake.

“Watch it!” Anders yelled, catching himself before he fell and regaining his stride, running into the building after the girl who had sprinted past him. Presumably she was taking the same course he was, because she too turned left and started running down the stairs to the lower lecture halls, her heavy combat boots thudding obscenely loudly against the worn, polished wood boards of the stairs.

“Sorry! Sorry!” she shouted over her shoulder, boots throwing up noisy squeaks as she rounded the end of the stairs, one hand still on the handrail to anchor her swing. “Classic Lit?” she asked breathlessly as Anders caught her up, the two of them now neck and neck as they ran down the corridor towards the double doors at the far end that marked their goal.

“Yeah,” he replied shortly, barely able to breathe let alone talk.

The girl grinned, her words came huffing out in short, sharp gasps. “I don’t normally do this.”

“Be late to lectures?” Anders could barely speak, his throat was dry from breathing so heavily. They were almost there, it was fine.

She laughed. “Nah, always doing that. I meant knocking you over, sorry.”

 _Don’t mention it,_ Anders would have said, but his throat finally gave up on him and he could only nod and wheeze a little in reply. _Smooth, Anders, real smooth._ And he wanted to be smooth, even when he was out of breath and helplessly dizzy, tripping more than running at this point, he could see that she was extremely pretty. But maybe it was just the lack of oxygen.

They finally reached the end of the ridiculously long corridor and the girl slowed to a walk, putting her finger against her lips and trying to control her breathing before she opened the door a crack. Peering inside, she beckoned Anders to follow her.

Anders straightened up from where he had bent almost double, nearly tipping himself to the floor. He could do this, he could sneak in behind her and nobody would even notice them. They were only 20 minutes late, after all, it was a 2 hour lecture so they probably hadn’t missed much. All he had to do was sneak in and nobody would be any the wiser.

“Ah, stragglers! How nice of you to join us at last,” came the snarky, bitter call from the front of the large lecture hall as they tiptoed in through the door. Damn, rumbled. Anders grimaced as the girl in front of him laughed nervously.

“Sorry, Professor Howe.”

“Mm, as always. And I see you’ve turned another to your bad example as well,” Howe sneered, narrowing his eyes and shaking his head at the sight of the boy standing awkwardly behind her. “Do yourself a favour and don’t make a habit of this.”

“No, sir. Sorry.” And now everyone was twisted around in their seats and staring at him. Wonderful.

“Take a seat, please, and we can continue.”

Anders finally understood the desire for the floor to open up and swallow him whole as he slid sheepishly into a seat on the top row of the lecture hall. His face burning, his took out his notebook and tried to ignore the stifled laughter emanating from a few of the students below him. What a great start to the day.

“Sorry,” the girl whispered as she took the seat next to him, taking out her notebook as well. “Didn’t realise Howe was going to be such a dick about it, otherwise I would have said it was my fault.”

“It’s fine,” he replied as quietly as he could, wishing she would just let him get on with taking notes so Howe didn’t yell at him again.

She was silent for a few moments, both of them focused on copying out the title of the lecture and catching up with what Howe was talking about.

“What’s your name?”

“Huh?” he whispered with annoyance lacing his tone, his brows knitted together as he tried to concentrate on what he was writing.

“Your name?” she said again, clearly not getting the message.

“I’m Anders,” he relented, glancing over at the dark-haired girl beside him.

She grinned at him. “I’m Hawke. Nice to meet you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I really loved writing this chapter! Funnily enough, I was writing it while waiting for my own lecture to start so almost had to re-enact the Hawke/Anders sprint to get there on time. Talk about art imitating life, right? 
> 
> Anyway, if you liked this please kudos or comment so I know to write more asap!


End file.
